He quietly followed me into the dining room, carrying the flatware. The tension in the air was thick as he walked behind me around the oval table, setting down silverware after each plate I’d put down. It was like some weird game of musical chairs where awkward silence replaced the music. The hairs on my back stiffened. We weren’t saying anything, but it was as if I could feel the weight of a thousand words along with the heat of his body so close behind me.

When I noticed he’d just put a fork where the spoon was supposed to go, I switched it. “The forks go on this side, actually.” My hand was shaking. I couldn’t believe how little control I had over myself.

Noticing my nerves, he suddenly placed his hand over mine and whispered, “Stop.”

Chills ran through me. My heart started to beat faster. My nipples hardened. I hated my body for responding to him with equal amounts of fear and lust.

I turned to him, his hand still over my knuckles. It felt like I couldn’t breathe as he just looked at me.

Mama entered, and we continued setting the table as if our stolen moment hadn’t happened.

Meet Penelope Ward

Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor, before switching to a more family-friendly career. She is the proud mother of a beautiful 10-year-old girl with autism and a 9-year-old boy. Penelope and her family reside in Rhode Island.